That's Not Cricket!
For All Nails #24: That's Not Cricket! by Noel Maurer ---- :Red Hook Fields :Brooklyn City, New York, N.C., C.N.A. :5 April 1972 Nigel Whittington had expected to be a happy man, but instead found himself embarrassed, confused, and sitting on a bench. The umpire had just rejected a howzat from one of the players, and to Nigel's absolute surprise, the player waltzed right up to the umpire and started haranguing him! Yelling and hollering, and the umpire took off his hat and threw it down and hollered right back. Surprised . . . no, downright shocked to see such behavior at a cricket match, Nigel's first instinct had been to break the fight up before someone got hurt. After all, when slap-happy football players back in Oxford had started to scream at the referee, blood and pain was not far away. Only the ump, a burly Brooklynite named Bret Candreotti, had responded to Nigel's bodily interpolation with a grunted, "What the fuck are you doing?" while the other player, equally surprised, jumped back and yelled, in the incomprehensible local accent, "Samattawhitcha!?" "I was, I mean, I was just trying ... " Nigel spluttered. As an embarrassed Nigel tried to explain that he was just trying to keep the two of them from killing each other, his friend Danny Rubinstein jogged up in his red-and-yellow team uniform, Mackin Street Donut-Bombers emblazoned across the front. "Heya, Nigel, c'mere. Whyn't'cha sit this one out?" FN1 "Yeah, why dontcha sit this one out, huh?" chimed in Candreotti, while another player managed to glare and shake his head at Nigel at the same time. "Frickin' nelly." Nigel avoided the men's stares. He hadn't been playing too well, and now he had misinterpreted, well, something. Agreeing to play had been a huge mistake. "Aw, Christ man, now whaddaya we gonna do wit' only eight guys on our team?" yelled the bowler. FN2 "Heya, Bobbaroo, you was only playin' with eight anyways!" yelled someone from the batting team. "Hey, Rubinstein said this a--hole could play!" yelled another. "Shut the f--k up, willya?" yelled back Rubinstein. In a clear attempt to further profundicize Nigel's confusion, the mens' expressions didn't match the severity of their language. Nigel thought he knew North Americans. He had spent four years in the CNA as a teenager at public school in Massachusetts, before going back to England for university, and he got along fine in Manhattan's better precincts. Unfortunately, this wasn't Massachusetts and this wasn't Manhattan. Nigel and Danny schlumped over to the bench. "Don't sweat it, Nigel." Nigel shook his head, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "I had no idea it was so different." Danny laughed as he pushed some pads off the bench onto the dirt to make room for them to sit. "Yeah, well, that's my fault." "I mean," said Nigel, feeling defensive, "I play cricket with some fellows in Manhattan. This is something completely different." Danny laughed. "Yeah, I shoulda warned you. I mean, I've seen English cricket, back in university." Nigel shook his head. "Yes, but ... " he started, and then surprised himself with a snorted laugh. Seriously! He was 25 years old, and acting like some grammar school child. "It is ridiculous, isn't it?" Danny clapped Nigel on the shoulder. "Yup. Whole 'nother world over here." "You have that right," added Nigel. "The Manhattan league played with English rules," he added, still feeling defensive about his awful play. Danny sprawled back on the bench, legs extended, ankles crossed, staring at the ongoing game while talking to Nigel. "Yeah, you gotta understand, over the river there, that ain't the CNA. Manhattan's still in the United Empire, far as most've 'em are concerned. This here is Brooklyn City, Noit'america." He spit to his left, barely missing the bench. "Cawss, I fuhgot too." "Danny, no offense intended, but do you realize that your accent gets much stronger the second you get out of Manhattan? I can barely understand you." Danny laughed. "Yeah. Actually, y'know, I'm from N'awlins, but the accent ain't all that different from Brooklyn City." FN3 "Now I understand why all my friends back in England advised me to turn down any jobs anywhere but New York City." "Yeah, well ... f--k! Lookit that, man!" Danny stood up, as the action caught his attention. "Catch it, catch it, f--k! Trow you moron, trow!" The bowler had given the batsman a chinaman, but he had splatted it practically to the out line anyway. The fielder got the ball on the first bounce and threw it back hard as he could towards a fielder racing towards the back wicket. FN4 The runners charged past each other, then started to slide. "Dammit, dammit, yes!!!" yelled Danny! "Go for the double!" One fielder tagged a runner out, then flicked the ball at the other wicket. "Go go go go go ... aw f--k!" The runner slid in, bowling over the wicket with his body as the thrown ball went wild. FN5 Nigel looked up at Danny, who had just flung his cap in the dirt. "At least you scored." "Yeah, but that's a frickin' out, man!" Danny pointed at the field, accusingly. "That's right, you only have three." Nigel shook his head. "I forgot." "Yeah, one more and it's a new innings. Unless it's tied, and that almost nevuh happens, we only got six inna game, an' this is numbuh five, so unless we pull out a lead it's all ovuh." FN6 Danny's N'awlins accent was really coming through now. New Yorkers insisted that the accent of the CNA's second-largest city sounded nothing like the speech of the nation's largest metropolis, but Nigel couldn't hear a difference to save his life. FN7 Danny flopped down. "Gah! Run and an out. Shoulda been four." FN8 Now Nigel clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, what was that expression? Don't sweat it. Thanks for inviting me. Next time, though, I'd like a primer on how to play. Everything is different, you realize. Fewer players, more active fielding, much faster play ... " Danny, quickly putting aside his team's brief humiliation, added, "And we yell back the umps." "No, we don't do that in England." "I wouldn't've guessed." Danny scrunched his face for a second. "Listen, Nigel, things are slow at the firm. I'd bet that I can convince one of the partners to let me knock off midday on Friday. The Civil War is this week, y'know. Since it might be the last, there won't be a problem." FN9 "The what?" asked Nigel. "Jesus, Nigel, you been in New York what, three weeks, and you don't know? What, you don't watch vita? The Bee Cee-Noo Yawk test match!" FN10 Nigel nodded. "No, you're right, I heard some of the senior traders talking about that." "Okay, but you're not a trader, you're an analyst, right? Talk to the guys at the firm. I betcha what that everybody knocks off early that day, and the firm already has tickets. And the game's in Tory Stadium, easy to get to, not out on Mars." "Isn't that in Broncks, though?" asked Nigel. FN11 "Ah, c'mon! Straight shot up the MTS. Fawty minutes from midtown, tops." Danny looked at Nigel. "Trust me, going to this will be good for your career. And I can explain you the game as you watch the best of the best play it." By this point, Nigel probably would have preferred a root canal, but his friend seemed so excited about the idea ... and he did have a point. Everybody talked cricket in this town, more even than football. FN12 It wouldn't hurt to have a clue what they were talking about. It was now sinking in that he must have said some pretty stupid things without knowing it ... what did North Americans mean by "googly," anyway? "You might be right." "And lissen, bub, the cheerleaders ... almost as good as the Yanks. So, in for some pro-cricket?" FN13 "I think I can be there, but," he said, pointing at the field, where the players were hollering at each other again, "whatever you call it, that's not cricket." ---- Forward to FAN #25: All Politics is Local. Forward to 1 May 1972: The Magnificent Anachronism. Return to For All Nails. Category:Miscellaneous